Togetherness
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik and Bakura are roommates and friends, but are either of them prepared to take the next step in their relationship? When Marik has a nightmare one night, Bakura is willing to find out. Simple thiefshipping onesot


**Another thiefshipping oneshot for another friend's birthday XD I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or these characters.**

**Warnings: no smut, but slight allusions to sexual scenes**

It was a cold, stormy night when the world finally came together.

The day had been extraordinarily average. Bakura stretched out lazily on the couch, a book held delicately between his slender fingers. The house was experiencing a rare moment of quiet; the two thieves who had co-inhabited since Marik showed up unexpectedly at Bakura's doorstep followed a fairly simple daily routine, consisting of a mix of thieving, eating, and relaxing together in an easily shared lifestyle. There were many battles, as was only natural, but at the same time they both felt more at ease in each other's company than they ever had with anyone else. It was partly what kept them together.

Bakura smirked wryly at that thought. He had never, for one second, imagined _Marik_ to be the person he finally found bearable. Three thousand years of life had left him cynical of most of the human experience – life for him was not fleeting, and every dull second of it had been lived over and over and over again. Different bodies, but the same problems. Bakura was exhausted of it all.

"Hey, what have you done with my book?"

_Except for that,_ Bakura thought wryly. He glanced up from his position sprawled on the couch cushions, arching one quizzical brow at Marik's narrowed violet eyes. "What have I done with your what?"

"My book," Marik repeated with a growl. "I left it on my desk."

Bakura shrugged, idly turning his gaze back to his own pages. "I haven't been in your room."

"Bullshit." Marik dropped onto the couch beside Bakura and jabbed his shoulder repeatedly, scowling. "No one else would have moved it."

"Maybe you just forgot where you put it."

"Me? Forget something? Pah." Marik sat back and folded his arms.

Bakura merely rolled his eyes. He lifted his book higher, hiding his features, though he found his eyes constantly flicking up to study his roommate. Marik's blond hair was slightly ruffled, his eyes creased with irritation as he stared off into the distance. Bakura idly wondered what he was thinking about.

"What are you reading?" Marik asked, peering over at Bakura.

Bakura blinked, quickly turning his attention back to the book and hoping that he hadn't been caught staring. His roommate often caught him off-guard. "Ah … nothing very interesting. It's about a fraud case, though the criminal was hopelessly inept."

A soft smirk lifted Marik's lips. "You could do much better, I'm sure."

"So much." Bakura's lips twitched.

Marik shifted closer until he was practically lying on Bakura's lap. He reached for the book. Bakura stiffened instantly and arched a brow at him, automatically holding the book high out of Marik's reach. "…What are you doing?"

"Share," Marik ordered. "You stole my book, after all."

"…I didn't steal anything," Bakura muttered.

"Yeah, and I'm Ra," Marik scoffed with a roll of his eyes. His hands made another grab for Bakura's book.

This time, the thief reluctantly lowered it until the pages could easily be seen by both of them. "Just don't distract me," he growled.

"Would I do that?" Marik sent Bakura a very fake innocent look before smirking and curling up closer by his side, reading the words over his shoulder. A comfortable silence pervaded the air once again. However, Bakura found himself unable to focus as well on the words of the page now that he had Marik's warmth pressed against him, his scent invading the air. He let Marik take control of the book, turning the pages at his much faster reading pace. Bakura closed his eyes. He wasn't used to companionship like his, or comfort; never in his three thousand years of life had he found someone he could relax with. It didn't take much for Bakura to find his eyes closing.

"Go to sleep if you're tired," Marik murmured.

Bakura blinked, his head jerking up again to meet Marik's gaze. "What?"

"You're dropping the book, though." Marik reached forwards to pluck it from Bakura's grasp, settling himself more comfortably on the couch. He pulled Bakura towards him. "There, now you can go to sleep."

Bakura sent Marik a quizzical glare, though it was quickly overtaken by a yawn. Marik grinned. "Come on, I promise not to draw on your face or anything."

"…Don't you dare," Bakura growled. The threat was half-hearted, however, and he soon pressed his face back against Marik's side. Marik's scent was oddly comforting, his warmth faintly reminding Bakura of a life he had once had, so many thousands of years ago, with his family in their simple village. It almost felt like his mother's arms around him as he finally drifted into sleep.

A low sound entered Bakura's ears. He stirred with a groan, flinging one arm over his eyes and squeezing them tightly shut. His head felt groggy. He stretched his legs out, body unfurling from the tight ball he had rolled into. Bakura frowned. There was too much space for him to still be on the couch, and the warmth of Marik had disappeared from his side. Bakura, oddly, found himself missing the presence of his roommate.

Sitting up slowly, Bakura glanced around and realised he had somehow ended up back in his own bed. He arched a brow. Marik must have carried him in here whist he slept, and somehow he had managed to neither awaken nor drop the thief. That was quite an achievement. Too often, Bakura underestimated Marik's abilities; it was easy to forget just what he was capable of when he looked like a feminine blond wisp.

The low sound that had first stirred Bakura from his slumber soon whispered through the air again. It sounded almost like a whimper. Bakura swung his legs out from under the sheets and moved through to the hall, still in his clothes from earlier, going to investigate the noise.

The whimper seemed to be coming from Marik's room. It sounded again, followed by a low keening moan and several sharp pants. "No, no, don't come any closer … get away…"

Bakura paused outside Marik's door, considering his options. He had no doubt that the Egyptian would yell at him for being in his room if he was awake, but … he sounded distressed. Bakura cursed himself when he realised he was actually worried. When had he started feeling capable of human emotions again?

Another gasp ripped through the air, followed by something close to a scream. That was enough for Bakura. He pushed the door open and strode in, pausing to take in the scene before him. The darkened room was lit by a glowing nightlight that pervaded the air with a sense of peace. The bed, in contrast, was a mess of twisted, knotted sheets, with Marik curled up right in the middle of them, his hands over his head. He whimpered again.

Bakura felt a small tug in his chest at the sight of Marik like that. It was extraordinarily rare to see the Egyptian looking vulnerable; he liked to wear a bright, happy nature to trick the world into thinking he was alright. Bakura recognised it well enough, as he himself had done the same thing many times before. But now, Marik looked … frightened. And the look did not suit him.

As Bakura looked on, Marik's body curled into an even tighter ball. His fingers gripped at his hair, tugging at the strands as he bit his lower lip hard enough for a few spatters of blood to drop down his chin. A low, keening, desperate moan left his lips. "_No…"_

Bakura moved then. He took three steps closer until he was at Marik's bedside, his brows furrowed and lips pursed as he stared down at his trembling roommate. Bakura had no idea what to do. Should he touch Marik? Try to comfort him? Shake him awake? … What had Bakura's mother done, when he had a nightmare as a child?

The memory of arms around him arose somewhere in Bakura's memory, so he did the same to Marik, perching on the edge of the bed and awkwardly encircling Marik's shoulders. Marik only whimpered louder. Bakura hissed, shifting so he was closer, almost lying beside Marik. He was useless at this. Human emotions escaped him; he had never experienced them, not since the destruction of his entire village. How was he supposed to know what to do? He closed his eyes and focused back on his memories, struggling to lose himself in a part of his life that he usually kept locked away from everyone, even himself.

_The scent of honey and baked bread in the air as arms tightened around his small, trembling body. Hair tickling his face. Soft material rubbing his skin as he pressed himself closer, and that voice murmuring, "You're not alone, Bakura." Lips pressing to his forehead._

Bakura kept his eyes closed as he tightened his grip on Marik. He acted without thinking, lost in his memories, and pressed a small kiss to Marik's forehead. "You're not alone, Marik."

Silence was his only response.

An age could have passed before Bakura stirred again. The silence in his ears and the warmth in his arms told him that something was different, and it occurred to him that Marik was no longer whimpering. He opened his eyes and glanced down.

Marik was looking straight at him.

Bakura jumped, and then fleetingly wondered if he would ever be old enough for nothing to surprise him anymore. He didn't move. Marik's eyes were dull violet, still dimmed from whatever nightmare he had been having, but he was most definitely awake. And staring at Bakura with a quizzical gaze. "…What are you…"

"You woke me up," Bakura interrupted, his voice gruff.

Marik blinked. "I did?" He shifted a little within Bakura's arms. "…And you came to check on me?"

"You were practically screaming the house down," Bakura answered after a moment's pause.

Marik's brow creased. He shifted again in Bakura's hold, attempting to sit up, but Bakura strangely didn't want to let him go. He hadn't felt warmth like this since his mother died. He tightened his grip.

Marik's expression turned quizzical again and he tilted his head at Bakura, blinking blearily. He spoke through a muffled yawn, his words unintelligible. "Whyyyy armph you…?"

"Just go back to sleep," Bakura murmured.

"If you stay…" Marik's eyes were closed again and he burrowed further into Bakura's chest.

Bakura froze. His gaze fixated on the sleepy Egyptian curled up close to him, watching Marik's blond hair fall into his closed eyes, his golden skin washed out in the dim nightlight. Surely Bakura hadn't heard him right. Still, Marik was half lying on Bakura by now, and Bakura couldn't very well move without waking him again, so he resigned himself to remaining there. Marik's warmth wasn't exactly unpleasant, after all. It didn't take long for Bakura's eyes to close again, and he drifted into sleep with his arms still looped loosely around Marik's shoulders.

A pleasant warm sensation at his scalp was the next thing to wake Bakura. The warmth by his side and the proximity of another body disoriented him for a moment, and Bakura almost thought he was back with his mother again, a young boy cuddled up by her side. Or had he died during the night, and woken to find himself with them again?

Bakura blinked open his eyes and blond, sandy hair met his vision. _Not. Not mother. Just Marik._ Oddly enough, that thought wasn't enough to truly upset him. It was pleasant to wake up and find Marik by his side.

Marik noticed Bakura looking at him and instantly withdrew his hand from Bakura's hair. He cleared his throat. "Ah … you're awake."

"Apparently so." Bakura couldn't stop the corner of his mouth twitching.

Marik glanced away. "I … was going to ask you what you were doing in my bed."

"You don't remember?" Bakura tilted his head quizzically and sat himself up a little, though he remained close by Marik's side.

Marik's brow creased and he stared pointedly away from Bakura. "…I thought I was dreaming."

Bakura blinked at that. His brain was still in the process of waking so it took him a little while to figure out what felt _off_ about Marik. He was sitting and staring away from Bakura, his blond hair dripping down into his eyes. Bakura propped himself up on his elbows. "…You thought you dreamed of me getting in your bed?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Marik muttered almost too quietly to hear.

"Oho!" Bakura sent Marik a very deliberate smirk.

Marik ignored the expression and tugged his knees up into his chest. He still wouldn't look at Bakura. "Why did you come in here?"

"I told you," Bakura answered calmly, "You woke me up with your screaming."

Marik flinched. "Yes, but _why_? You could have just put earplugs in, or something."

Bakura arched one quizzical brow and leaned closer, attempting to study Marik's expression – not that he could see much of it. "I don't have earplugs."

"Then you could have shoved a pillow over your head." Marik's voice sounded tight.

"I could," Bakura answered mildly, "But you sounded in distress. I thought I should check that you were ok."

Marik hid his face in his hands. "I wasn't."

"I could tell." Bakura pushed himself up until he was fully upright, and he hesitantly reached out a hand to place it on Marik's arm.

Marik jerked out of Bakura's grip.

Bakura growled. "Hey, what is _with_ you? Ok, fine, next time you're having a nightmare I'll leave you alone, is that what you want to hear?"

"No," Marik hissed.

"Then what the bloody hell is your problem?" Bakura leaned forwards and placed his hand back on the younger man's arm, forcing Marik to face him.

Marik flinched back. "No one is supposed to see me like that! No one!"

"Why?" Bakura's eyes narrowed. "I know you have a God complex, but everyone has fears, Marik. Even me."

"But you're not supposed to see me like that," Marik hissed. "I'm not supposed to be weak, pathetic. I'm better than that! I'm an Ishtar!"

"Since when have you ever cared about being an Ishtar? You hated your time there." Bakura continued shrewdly, "In fact, I bet that's what you nightmare about, isn't it? Your father controlling you?"

"Shut. Up." Marik growled.

"Or do you rather imagine yourself killing him again?" Bakura carried on ruthlessly. "Does the blade feel hot in your hand? Does his blood coat your clothes until the stench of it is inescapable?"

"Shut it!" Marik roared and lunged, knocking Bakura over onto his back.

"Why?" Bakura stared up at Marik, not fighting him. "Am I too close to the truth?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Marik hissed.

"I do." Bakura disagreed in a flat tone. "I do, because I've _been there_. I've been in your position too many times to count, Marik, and I know how death haunts the flesh."

Marik went still. His hands were on Bakura's shoulders, nails digging in too deep, but Bakura didn't mind the pain. In 3000 years he had grown accustomed to it. He merely lay under Marik, and stared into his eyes, trying to see passed the mask that Marik always wore. "I know I'm right. Anyone would nightmare after what you've been through."

"But it's weak." Marik's voice sounded almost broken. "I'm weak."

Bakura moved. He broke out of Marik's grip and grasped the younger man's shoulders, giving him a harsh shake. "How can you possibly say that? Weak people don't survive, yet here you still are."

Marik blinked.

"A weak person would have given in by now," Bakura continued roughly, "But you're here, and so am I. You're not alone, Marik."

Marik's eyes drifted back up to Bakura's face, and this time there was a hint of his usual gleam to their dull depths. He leaned a bit closer. "We are still here."

"It would appear so." One corner of Bakura's mouth turned up in a smirk.

Marik returned the expression with a grin, and Bakura was oddly relieved to see the arrogant expression back on his roommate's face. It suited him much more than the sad, angry look that had been in his eyes mere moments before.

"Let me just clear one thing up," Marik began, and Bakura instantly grew suspicious of the mirth bubbling in his voice. "You came in to check on me, and then willingly got into my bed and cuddled with me?"

A deep crevice instantly appeared in Bakura's brow. "…What of it?"

"I never suspected you'd _like_ cuddling." Marik's grin grew.

Bakura scowled. "I don't. You were practically hysterical and it was the only thing I could think of doing."

"You still stayed," Marik pointed out with a low chuckle.

Bakura frowned, a small memory coming back to him. "…Only because you told me to."

Marik blinked. "…I did?"

"Yes. You did." Bakura leaned forwards suddenly, and the smirk was back at his lips. "Which rather begs the question … why would you want me in your bed?"

Marik's expression remained impassive. "I could show you, if you like."

Before Bakura could think up a reasonable response to that, Marik did something that both shocked him to his core. Marik leaned forwards, placed his hand back on Bakura's shoulder, and kissed him full on the lips.

Bakura went totally still.

Marik drew back quickly, the kiss so short it almost could have been just a flicker of the imagination. Bakura was almost sure he had imagined it. He kept staring into Marik's eyes, his expression a little wild with confusion. "…What did you just do?"

"Do you need me to do it again for you to get my point?" Marik rolled his eyes before he leaned forwards again and pressed their lips together. However, Bakura had enough nous this time to lean back, frowning deeply.

"What the hell are you doing?" he growled.

Marik's expression remained impassive. "Showing you what you wanted to know."

"I…" Bakura shook his head, trying to think, before he stared back at Marik. "…You…"

Marik merely smiled a little sheepishly, nodded, and then leaned forwards again. This time, Bakura met him halfway. Their kisses became more feverish, their arms finding ways to wrap around each other as they pressed close to each other. In Bakura's head, this felt weirdly … right. Thoughts of his mother flashed through his skull again. _Would she be happy, knowing this is where I've ended up? With a criminal who's hands are soaked in blood, almost as much as my own_? But as Bakura held Marik, felt him open himself completely to the younger man, and Marik returned with an honesty that was almost painful, the thief realised that whatever acts the two had committed no longer mattered. They were who they were, and they were unashamed.

Bakura held Marik close to him, feeling the younger man's breath against his bare neck. The warmth was back by his side. Marik's skin always felt warm to Bakura – it was as if Marik had somehow encapsulated the Egyptian sun in his body, his hair the colour of sand, his skin scented with the desert. It reminded Bakura all too much of home. His slender, pale hand, reminiscent of the body he had borrowed for so long, lifted to carefully stroke through Marik's hair. _She would be proud,_ he thought blearily just before drifting into sleep. _She would be proud that I found someone who is, in the end, just like me…_


End file.
